


The Face That Launched a Thousand Ships

by igrab



Series: Lovenest [2]
Category: Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrab/pseuds/igrab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam always sets up Junior's dates for the annual company Christmas party; whatever he was expecting, this isn't it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Face That Launched a Thousand Ships

What started out as a joke has become a tradition; the sort of tradition that you complain about vociferously every single year and yet would secretly be really upset to give up. It has its roots in the oldest joke in the book - the one where Sam says 'you are the gayest gay to ever be gay' and Junior repeatedly insists that, no, he's straight, but unlike some people, he has a good sense of fashion. When Sam maybe sort of hacked into the Encom system to push Junior's resume to the top of the list, landing him a terrific job (and even better - a chance to prove himself), it was about a week before the company's annual Christmas party and suddenly, Junior needed a date. Sam was only too happy to find him one.

The only reason that night didn't turn into a complete fiasco was due to the timely intervention of one Alan Bradley, and Junior, despite their differences in opinion on company policy, has never forgotten it. 

The year after that, Sam did it again. The girl he set him up with was, if possible, even worse.

Things just snowball, and suddenly, five years down the line, Sam's taking over the company and dropping by Junior's office to rib him about his vests and give him desperately unwanted dating advice and the Christmas party is coming up. He'd always considered the Christmas dates as a sort of secondary Encom prank; he doesn't have any idea what's going to happen this year. On one hand, he hopes Sam will stop sabotaging the company, now that he's running it (up to and including giving their software away for free, _yes, Sam, we are having this discussion again because you just don't seem to understand how business works_ ), and truly Junior can count all the past Christmas parties as the worst days of his life. But on the other hand, it's a tradition. It's a symbol that somewhere, underneath it all, he and Sam are still best friends - friends who crashed on each other's couches throughout their college hangovers, friends who built their own computers in Sam's garage in high school, friends who used to build train sets all over Flynn's office, when they were just kids.

He's working late on the night before the party when he gets an email from Sam's personal account.

> from **Sam Flynn** <samonwheels@gmail.com>  
> to **Edward Dillinger Jr** <dillinger.jr@encom.net>  
> date Thurs, Dec 23, 2010 at 09:48 PM  
> subject you are such a workaholic 
> 
> You ready for date night roulette, tiger?

He rolls his eyes at the nickname but responds instantly.

> from **Edward Dillinger Jr** <dillinger.jr@encom.net>  
> to **Sam Flynn** <samonwheels@gmail.com>  
> date Thurs, Dec 23, 2010 at 09:50 PM  
> subject RE: you are such a workaholic
> 
> I'm horrified. 7pm, you know where I live.
> 
>  
> 
> from **Sam Flynn** <samonwheels@gmail.com>  
> to **Edward Dillinger Jr** <dillinger.jr@encom.net>  
> date Thurs, Dec 23, 2010 at 09:51 PM  
> subject RE: you are such a workaholic 
> 
> Not this time. I'm invited this year, remember? Just show up at the party and I'll introduce you. Relax, I swear this one is the best yet.

Yeah. Sure. That's what he says every time.

•

Junior is always excessively careful with how he dresses. It doesn't have anything to do with his sexual preference - he _prefers_ to express himself by a certain 'look', no matter what it makes people assume about him, and parties are no different. This year he's feeling decidedly un-festive, and the shirt he wears is a deep cobalt blue, with a trim vest in dark pinstripe over top of it. He has cufflinks that sparkle, pants that cup his ass and fit snug around the lines of his thighs, a skinny tie in flashy silver and he spends at least an hour making sure his hair is _perfect_.

And his glasses, of course. Glasses are hot. Chicks dig the glasses.

The Encom reception facility (yes, they have a reception facility) is an enormous, beautiful glass-and-chrome structure with ridiculous amounts of abstract art and copious conversation-muting fountains. Junior hovers by the bar, makes small talk with the ex-Chairman of the board who no one has the heart to outright fire, gets introduced to an old lady shareholder as his father's son, and sweet-talks a junior programmer into copyrighting his code - all before the clock strikes 8. 

That's when he sees her.

He sees Sam first, and his eye immediately goes to his side, looking for this year's mystery date. Hooked on Sam's right elbow is a guy - a trim, compact sort of man with dark hair who looks like he could rip out someone's throat with his pinky finger. Dear god, he hopes Sam hasn't crossed that invisible line, from poking fun at Junior's sexuality to outright dismissing it. But then he looks to Sam's other side.

She's shorter than him by half a head - so still tall, probably of a height with Junior in her heels. Her black hair is aesthetically, unevenly cut, her eyeliner makes her blue eyes instantly visible even from this far away, and she's wrapped in a smooth, asymmetrical black velvet dress. Junior can't take his eyes off of her. She looks like the future, she looks like she belongs here. She looks like she's too busy staring up at the ceiling to notice that there's a step in her way.

She trips, falls flat on her face, and Sam's first reaction - being a class A douchebag - is to laugh and laugh.

Junior's only a class B douchebag, so first he thinks ' _oh god, is she okay?_ ' But when Sam offers her a hand up like it's no big deal and she shoots up to her feet, grinning wide, not even a speck of dust on her dress, _then_ he laughs.

"Hey man, don't be a dick. It's rude to laugh when someone falls over." This is how Sam says hello. It's how he always says hello, and Junior just rolls his eyes.

"Hypocrite," he says.

"Touché. Junior, I'd like you to meet Quorra. Quorra, this is Junior."

She sticks one black-gloved hand out for him to shake and her grin is curved and infectious, eyes bright like stars. "Pleased to meet you."

This isn't what's supposed to happen. What's supposed to happen is, Sam's supposed to hook him up without someone blond and trashy and boobalicious, all of which he knows Junior has a severe distaste for, with one or more terrible personality traits that will quickly speed the evening to disaster. Quorra is different. He wonders if he shouldn't be judging her on first impressions, maybe she's a total witch and the beautiful package is just to distract him, but when Junior meets Sam's eyes he seems something strange and new within them.

 _Take care of her,_ his eyes say. _She's special, she's precious, and I'm lending her to you. Don't screw it up._

"I, uh. You, too," he finally stutters in reply, then shakes her hand as gracefully as he knows how.

"See, I knew you'd get along. Rin- " Sam cuts off whatever he'd been about to say, as he notices that his dark-haired shadow is gone - detached and drifting towards the food table, already halfway across the room. He sighs and it's disturbingly _fond_. 

"Quorra, don't let him talk programming all night. Junior, make sure she doesn't trip again. Or break anything. She's going to save the world." And with that cryptic remark, he's gone, dashing off after his own... date... if that was what it truly was.

Junior sighs and offers his arm in the most courtly of manners. "For the record, I _can_ talk about other things than programming."

"I like programming," she says, and after peering curiously at his arm for a moment, she instead takes his hand in hers. He feels his heart do a skipping sort of _thump_. "But there's so much else to talk about. Are you a friend of Sam Flynn?"

It's the first time, really, that he's ever had a prolonged non-work-related conversation with someone who doesn't immediately associate him with his father. It's nice, being able to talk about Sam, and she seems to understand the deeper intricacies of having such a dichotomous friendship.

"I wouldn't give any of it up," he admits, as they wander the atrium and pick up canapés like they're each a tiny adventure. "He's insane, but he wouldn't be Sam if he wasn't. Have you ever had caviar?"

"What's caviar?" she asks with an honest innocence.

•

As the evening winds down, Junior's come to two conclusions - one, that Quorra can't possibly be human; and two, this can't possibly be the last he sees of her.

The first he confirms by cornering Sam in the bathroom and pinning him with his very best asshat!Dillinger!glare™. Sam collapses like a soufflé and admits, it's complicated, he'll get the full debriefing later, but essentially: yeah. She's something else.

The second he addresses as he walks her out to Sam's car.

Sam and Rinzler are still far behind, getting caught by drunken last-minute stragglers who feel the need to give their CEO their heartfelt opinion. Junior doesn't mind. Quorra's fingers are wrapped around his again, all velvety and too tight, and her cheeks are red from the wine and the cold. They stop at the passenger-side door. Junior tries to find the words to say.

She moves first, instead.

Her velvet-glove hands cup his cheeks and pull his face down, and her mouth presses lightly against his - once, twice, little butterfly breaths of touch. He snaps out of it - reaches a hand up and curls it around one of hers, then pulls her in and kisses her full and completely. He can feel her up against him in a line from thigh to chest; she kisses like she doesn't know you're supposed to hold back. He's reeling from the taste of her, the touch, the warm pale skin under velvet angles and uneven lines. He's breathless.

"Oh, that was _fun_ ," she whispers against his lips before even really pulling away. He smiles brightly - can't help it, she's just so in love with everything around her. "The books don't tell you that part."

He thinks it - tries not to say it, but it's already out of his mouth. "Really? You've been reading all the wrong books, then."

But she laughs. She laughs at his jokes when they aren't funny because he's a walking cliché, but she doesn't seem to be aware of that. She seems to think he's brilliant.

"Can I see you again soon?" she asks.

Sam and Rinzler are catching up; Junior flicks his eyes back to Quorra's face and steals one last kiss. "Yes," he whispers, and one more - just one. "Yes." But she won't let him have the last say either, so _she_ kisses him, and it's with lips locked that Sam sidles up to them and leans in too close to peer, intently, at their faces.

"Can you _not_ do that," Junior sighs, exasperated, and Quorra snickers quietly beside him.

Sam holds up his hands - _who, me?_ "Just looking."

"Yes, _I know_."

"What can I say, your face would launch a thousand ships."

"Oh, for the love of - "

Quorra brightens. "Did he just call you Helen of Troy?"

And it was then, in the parking lot of the Encom reception building, leaning up against Sam Flynn's car with his arms around someone not entirely human and clocks somewhere striking midnight, that Edward Dillinger Jr fell in love. It was not at all like the storybooks said it would be but it was, all things considered, a pretty standard boy meets girl. Or in this case, boy meets world-saving program-brought-to-life. He is, after all, a walking cliché, but he's always loved the fantastic in life - always believed in things that can't be explained.

He can't explain love, he can't explain friendship, he can't explain Quorra and the face she makes when he does something particularly camp. She sees him all fresh and new. He's her phantasmagoria, he's something she's never seen before. Her Helen; breaking the rules, launching the ships, captivating the heart of the profoundly naive - and infinitely wise.


End file.
